


Not One Line

by looneylizzie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Next Generation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6965185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looneylizzie/pseuds/looneylizzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <img/>
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  <p>
    <em>“Lives are stories, and I won’t walk away without telling you that I wish, with all my heart, that I could rewrite it all.”</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>“Not those times. Not one line. Don’t you dare.”</em>
  </p>
  <p>Honorable mention in patronus_charm's Angst Galore Challenge<br/>Third Place in Theia's 2nd Person POV Challenge<br/>For ad astra's Sink Your Ship||True Author's Taylor Swift Song Quote Challenges<br/>(all challenges on HPFF)<br/>PERFECT Banner by Inexplicable@TDA</p>
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            </blockquote>





	Not One Line

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimers: I own nothing you recognize.**

You stand at his door, contemplating as to whether it’s wise to knock or not. You’ve been mulling over this for weeks, wondering if you should visit him, or stay far, far away. 

Ever since you spotted him at the graveyard, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. He’d been sitting in front of a particular headstone, the flowers he’d brought lay forgotten by his side. Even from a distance, you could see the tear tracks on his cheeks, not bothering to wipe them away as he traced the outlines of the words carved into the stone. Occasionally he would whisper something to himself, or perhaps to her, you couldn’t tell either way.

You watched him in peace for several minutes before readjusting your hold on your own flowers and taking a deep breath, stepping forward nervously. 

You hadn’t seen each other in a year. To the day, actually. You’d argued all day long, shouting insults and yelling obscenities at the top of your lungs before you both ran out of things to say.

“Get out,” he’d croaked after what felt like hours of silence, his voice scratchy from all the yelling.

It took you less than a month before you realized that you’d made the biggest mistake of your life when you walked out that door.

But you were stubborn, and prideful, and wanted to prove that you could move on, that you could survive without him.

It was all a lie that came crumbling down the moment you realized that he was the one sitting in front of her grave.

You wouldn’t admit it to him, at least not yet. You hadn’t fully processed those feelings and what they meant. That was one of the things he’d loved most about you anyway. Why change that?

Of course, you hadn’t anticipated the look on his face when he’d first seen you. His grey eyes that you’d known so well were filled with pain, the light that had once been there was long gone, and you knew that you’d caused it.

He’d stood up quickly, his shoulders tense as he plastered an impassive look across his face.

“Hello,” you’d whispered, tentatively hoping to start a conversation. “How’re you doing?”

Your question went unanswered, as he brushed past you and stomped away without a single glance in your direction.

Despite his response, you couldn’t help but wonder. Wonder if you could try again, if you could forgive each other long enough to be reminded of why you fell in love in the first place. If you could figure out what went wrong…

No, you knew what went wrong. You’d been standing in front of it at the graveyard.

But maybe you could pick up the pieces. Start over again. Wipe the slate clean. Erase the bad times and leave the good ones.

So, a month later, you’re standing in front of his door, rethinking your plan.

Fate decided for you when he opened the door instead.

You stood, staring at each other for several minutes. He looked good. Physically, at least. He was healthy, that much you could tell. Over his shoulder you could see a spotless flat, noting the absence of anything that had to do with you.

In contrast, you knew that you looked terrible. These days it took all of your effort to even shower, much less clean. You’d moved in with your parents last year, where everything reminded you of him.

He was the first to speak. “What’re you doing here?” he snapped, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I- I wanted to see you,” you mumble, averting your eyes away from his cold stare.

“Why?” he huffed impatiently.

You shrink back at his tone, almost regretting even coming here in the first place. “Ever since I saw you at the graveyard-”

“Don’t talk about that place,” he interjected.

You nod slightly and continue. “Ever since I saw you, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I realized that I’d made a huge mistake. I should never have walked out that door, or said the things I did. I never should have given up on us, and I was a fool to think I didn’t need you.”

You take a deep breath, and swallow back lump forming in your throat. “I think I realized how wrong I was almost immediately after I left, but was too proud to suck it up and tell you. Not until now, until the moment I saw you again, and realized how much I’ve missed you, how much _I need you in my life._ ”

Hope fills your chest when you notice a slight flicker in his expression, as if he was struggling to hold it. 

Hesitantly, you step forward, wanting nothing more than to be held in his arms again. He flinches, but doesn’t step away at the movement, his expression flickering again.

“Can you forgive me?” you whisper, failing to hold back the desperation in your voice.

He sighs, his expression softening as he reaches up and runs a hand through his white blond hair in the way you’d seen him do a thousand times before. It takes a lot of effort not to smile and reach forward to muss it up. 

“I forgave you a long time ago. Not forgiving you wasn’t even an option. It was the only way I could move on,” he said calmly as his eyes locked onto yours.

You can’t help the tiny smile that creeps its way onto your face, keeping your eyes staring into his as you ask your next question. “Can we try again?”

The silence that follows is deafening. 

All hope you felt before slowly melts away with each moment that passes with no response, and before too long your stomach is filling with dread.

You get your answer when he breaks eye contact with you, choosing to stare at his shoes instead.

“Why?” you finally ask, taking another step forward. 

He glances at you before looking away and huffing slightly. “You know why,” he replies, his tone indicating his irritation.

Again, you step forward, now in arms reach. “No, I don’t, and I deserve to know why,” you say, attempting to make eye contact again.

He’s frustrated now, and the look he gives you is full of contempt. “Oh, you do?” He steps forward as well, closing the distance between you, so that you’re nearly nose to nose. “Well, we should start with what happened after… after… _she_ died.” Despite his anger, and all the time that had passed, he still couldn’t say her name.

“We were happy. Truly happy! We had everything we needed, and didn’t care about the rest. When life was hard, I knew that I had you two to help me through it, and we were there for you, and you and I were always there for her. But after she was gone, you just shut me out. You weren’t there for me, and you didn’t let me be there for you. I tried, oh Merlin _knows_ I tried to help you, but you wouldn’t have it.” Nearly his whole body was shaking, whether from rage or despair, you couldn’t tell.

He stepped back then, beginning to pace as he ranted. “I spent a year, a whole year, trying to save us, to bring our lives back into some semblance of what it had been, and you just threw it all away when you walked out that door.” 

You can feel the familiar heat of anger as it wells up inside you, just like it had that fateful day, during your last fight.

This time you suppress it. You know that he’s right, and turning around and accusing him of things isn’t going to do anything. Tears form in your eyes, but you refuse to let them spill over. You won’t fight back because you need to hear this, and you know he won’t listen to what you say.

“Then there’s the fact that you were the one who walked out on me. _You_ gave up on _us!_ You were the one who hurt me, and I’m not going to risk getting hurt again just because you changed your mind and came crawling back over a year later! I’ve loved you since the day I met you, ten years ago! And you just dumped it on the ground and stomped all over it! How could you ever, EVER expect me to risk doing it again? I can’t do it, and I’m so sorry for that. But I can’t let you in only to have you stomp all over me again.”

He stops pacing and turns to face you again, just as the first tear falls from your eye.

“You’re right. About everything. I wish I could fix it, that I could go back in time and change it, but I can’t.” You can barely choke out the words, your voice thick from crying. You feel your shoulders sagging under the weight of your guilt, knowing that there is nothing you could do to change the past.

“Lives are stories, and ours is coming to an end. But I won’t walk away without telling you that I wish, with all my heart, that I could rewrite it all.” You can barely see him through your tears that are falling thick and fast down your cheeks. There’s nothing you can do to stop them, so you don’t.

“Not those times. Not one line. Don’t you dare,” you hear him whisper fiercely, tears beginning to fall from his eyes as well.

“What?” you ask, blinking a few times to clear your eyes.

“I wouldn’t write our story any other way, because I can’t imagine ever being as happy as I was with you, no matter how bad it got.” His voice betrays him for the first time as you realize that his heart is breaking just as much as yours is.

You don’t know what to say. This is the last page, and the end of your story isn’t the happy ending you expected. When you walk out the door for the second time, you’ll be closing the book on the only person who could ever have the chance of making you happy again. Impulsively you do the one thing you have wanted to do since seeing him, and the one thing you _needed_ to do before leaving for good. You reach forward and grab his shoulders, pulling him in close and kissing him harder than you ever have. You put everything he ever made you feel into that kiss, trying to tell him the things that words can’t explain.

For a moment, he doesn’t fight you. In fact, he kisses back, his arms winding their way around you and squeezing tightly, as if he’d never let you go.

Then he does.

As you pull back, your heart breaks into a million pieces, and you know that you will never be whole again.

With one last look, you whisper, “Goodbye,” as you walk out the door. There is no going back now.

You walk without direction, your feet taking you on a path you don’t know. You’re openly sobbing as you walk down the street, occasionally needing to stop and lean against a wall or sit on a bench and wail loudly, the ugly cries you make scaring those who pass by you.

It takes a while, but your tears finally subside when you realize where you are. 

You fall to your knees in front of the gravestone, wondering if your heart would be as broken if she hadn’t died.

Slowly, you trace the lettering with your fingertips, the cold of the marble sending goosebumps up your arms.

_Vivian Cassiopeia Malfoy_  
b. 11th May 2023 - d. 21st May 2026  
“The song is ending, but the story never ends.” 

You pull a pocket watch out from under your shirt and over your head. The gold and silver clock had stopped working ages ago, but tucked inside of it, where the clock’s gears one lay, was a photograph.

It unfolds easily, the paper well worn from the many times you’d pulled it out and stared at it before folding it up again. The image is of the three of you standing in the backyard, the picture version of you coaxing a little girl onto a miniature broom, as the man with white blond hair hovers over the two, wringing his hands nervously. Just before the girl takes off, you all look up at the camera and smile brightly. As the man you still loved kisses your forehead just as the girl disappears from the frame.

You tear your eyes away from the picture and turn it over, re-reading the faded words that were written in your mother’s perfect script.

_Scorpius, Rose and Vivian Malfoy on Viv’s 3rd birthday.  
11th May 2026_

You leave the photograph by the headstone, staring at it all for one last moment before walking away.

**Author's Note:**

>  **This story is actually an 'alternate ending', (if you want to call it that) of my WIP novel over on HPFF,**  
>  How I Met Your Father (which is in major need of rewrites, so I won't be posting it here until those are done). The events that happen in that novel still do, but instead of the happy ending that's coming in that one, you get this. YAY!  
> The line _"I'd go back in time and change it, but I can't"_ from the song  Back to December. I am definitely NOT Taylor Swift, nor do I have any claim to her song or lyrics!!
> 
> **Also, the lines, _"Not those times. Not one Line. Don't you dare."_ and _"The song is ending, but the story never ends."_ aren't mine either. Both of those go to the genius writers of Doctor Who, from two of my absolute favorite episodes. Sadly, I don't own anything to do with them.**
> 
> **Let me know what you guys think! I hope you enjoyed it! Or not. *offers tissue box***


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